


unfinished business

by animalker



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animalker/pseuds/animalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looked like a ghost of herself here, in the throne room that had seen her become Champion and Viscountess. Sebastian was half-convinced she just wanted to be a smuggler again, and finding fights in alleyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unfinished business

**Author's Note:**

> _you've got blood on your hands, and I know it's mine, I just need more time_   
>  _so get off your low, let's dance like we used to_
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr version](http://inquisiitor.tumblr.com/post/138461184709/unfinished-business)

He found her in the throne room of the Viscount’s keep, her new crown in her hands. She was standing at the place she’d been declared Champion, all those years ago, when she was bloody and bruised and furious, but there’s none of that fire now. Her dark skin was grey-lit in the bright moonlight, and she looked like a ghost of herself, a long cloak of red over her shoulders. Her black hair was as curly as ever. He cleared his throat, and she glanced over her shoulder, relaxing when she saw him, smile flitting over her face.

“I take it my absence is noticed?”

“Unfortunately.” He said apologetically, stopping in the middle of the room. She turns around, fine doublet and pants underneath with threaded silver embroidery, her stocky build accentuating the lines of the vest.

“I’m surprised Seneschal Bran hasn’t burst in here yet, demanding to know what I’m thinking.”

“Aveline has two guards on the door.” He said, and she laughed, closing the gap between them and taking his hands. He squeezed them, smiling back.

“Of course she does.” She sighed, mirth fading, and Sebastian missed it almost immediately. “I should get back.”

“Probably.” He said. “But we don’t have to. If you wanted, we could just hide back here.”

She considered it, chewing on her lip. She’s been quieter since the Gallows bled red, but he has too because Elthina is dead, despite all his promises to keep her safe. Hawke brushes the back of her hand gently across his cheek, as if she knows where his thoughts have gone. They’ve had precious little time together since, only at nights when curled up in their bed, and they’ve whispered of different times, of could have and should haves. (“I didn’t want this.” She’d said softly, as he buckled up her cloak with a finely crafted pin, a gift from Varric. He’d had no answer for her then, and he still doesn’t now). Looking at her now, he half-believes she just wants to go back to being a Ferelden refugee with a sister who still loved her, fighting with the smugglers with blood in her teeth every other night and laughing, wild and feckless.

Things change, though.

“No,” she said regretfully, “I best go back out.”

He brings her hand with his ring on it to his mouth and kisses it. “As you say.” She takes the lead, as she always has. The foyer of the Viscount’s throne room is empty, but here, the music and laughter from the other room are clear. The tune is upbeat, and he remembers, so many years ago, back when he’d just joined her, a night in the Hanged Man where a traveling minstrel had played to pay for a room. Everyone had been laughing, and Hawke had danced with everyone who’d asked, clumsy but enthusiastic. She’d been beautiful like that, like she always had, broad and drawing every eye in the room with that unspoken charisma. He’d wanted to ask for a dance, but he was too new, too unsure, and he hadn’t. Now, though, he’s danced with her plenty of times, and it’s easy to slow her down, and turn to face her.

“Before we go, we should have a dance.” He said, and the quiet light lit up in her eyes as she started to smile again, wide and bright, and doesn’t give him any more warning before she spins into motion. She’s hardly graceful but she’s always been strong, and he finds himself laughing for the first time in weeks, fingers threaded through hers. It isn’t long before the song finishes in the next room and begins another, much slower, much softer, and she adjusts their dance accordingly, stepping closer against him, humming a Ferelden tune under her breath. He rests his chin on top of her head and breathes in to steady his heartbeat.

Outside, the nobles stand and talk and dance, as if Kirkwall isn’t in ruins outside, as if the Chantry isn’t rubble just a few blocks away, burying the fresh grief under wine and happiness. There’s a thinly stretched bubble over tonight, as if one wrong step will pop it and the veneer of happiness will come crashing down. He pushes away thoughts of the dead, and focuses on Hawke, just for a few minutes, just to be happy for a few more minutes-

Eventually, though, the song ends. She kisses him, one hand on his neck cupping his face, and then sighs, withdrawing. He squeezes her hand and puts a hand on the door to push it open.

“Ready, Mrs Vael?”

The corner of her mouth tilts up- an old joke. “Ready, Mr Hawke.”


End file.
